


Dream of Me When You're Awake

by thepixelelf



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Alice In Wonderland AU, Angst, Other, Romance, minor depictions of a car accident, minor depictions of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepixelelf/pseuds/thepixelelf
Summary: Seungmin finds himself stuck in a world straight out of crazed imagination, and he doesn’t know what’s real anymore. That is, until he meets you.
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Dream of Me When You're Awake

Seungmin doesn’t remember much.

It’s all too foggy, too blurred. He remembers crossing the street, maybe. Chan is there, some of the other boys are, too. He remembers… a rabbit—one walking on hind legs and wearing a coat made of velvet, a silver monocle over one eye, a golden pocket watch in hand. Or paw.

That much is quite clear. The rabbit.

He remembers following it. Where to, he can’t be sure, because—whether the following was out of curiosity or boredom—Seungmin found himself in a place he never once knew before.

He remembers falling, but it couldn’t have been that. He fell for far too long. Past maps and paintings and furniture that seemed to be floating, past things he couldn’t comprehend, yet didn’t have time to examine.

The leaves around him aren’t Seoul. The sky isn’t Seoul. The ground beneath him isn’t Seoul. He knows that beyond half a doubt.

The forest surrounding him is flush with greens and purples and blues, all glowing softly in the silent night. Too silent to be Seoul, Seungmin concludes (never mind the colours or the glowing), as the bustling city has never been so quiet as where he is now.

His head aches, but he doesn’t remember hitting it in the fall.

As he stands, rubbing his head as if to soothe the pain, he takes in more of the world around him. Every tree circling the clearing has a sign or three made of driftwood tacked to its trunk or branches.

_This way_

_That way_

_No way_

_Go way_

_Not this way, that way!_

What a ridiculous place. There is no definite direction, is there?

Seungmin doesn’t bother looking around any further, as any direction he goes will eventually take him out of the forest, at least. He begins down a path, where at least four signs point him.

“Don’t you know how to read, boy?”

The voice is deep and drawled with tired amusement, and it comes from nowhere. Seungmin’s head whirls around trying to find the source of the voice, but ultimately comes up with nothing.

“I…” he starts, though he doesn’t know why he is answering nothing. He gulps. “I can read. But none of this makes sense.”

“It is clear to me that you cannot,” the voice says behind Seungmin, eerily close. “Nothing is meant with sense here, yet even the ones before you could read, Alice.”

When Seungmin turns again, he is met with yet more nothing.

A scratching noise catches his ear, and he looks to the sound. The sign that once read _Go way_ slowly changes to _Go Away,_ carved into by a floating cat’s paw. A _purple_ floating cat’s paw. Seungmin’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he shakes his head, hoping his headache is the source of all this insanity.

He argues with air, “I can’t possibly go away, I don’t know where to go. And who is Alice?”

The paw disappears, and the voice comes from yet another spot in the clearing. “Don’t ask questions you know the answers to here, boy. You’ll get responses you’ll wish you never heard.”

Grass rustles, and the distinct sound of splintering, cracking wood startles Seungmin again. He whips around to the noise, expecting that damn voice to patronize him again, but he’s met with the first true thing he’s seen in this place.

You’re standing there with your back to him, boots grass-stained and muddy, hair disheveled. A tattered leather bag hangs off your shoulder, filled with who knows what. The _Go Away_ sign is in your hands, yanked from the tree trunk and split in two. Seungmin’s eyes scan you up and down. Somehow, against all rational thought in his mind, Seungmin knows—he _knows_ —you’re the only real thing here.

He just doesn’t know why.

He watches in silence as you pull down more signs. It’s quite violent, the way you go about it—two hands on each end of the driftwood, a foot propped against the trunk for extra strength, a grunt with each tug and yank. You throw each piece into a haphazard pile.

Eventually, he clears his throat.

“Oh!” you exclaim as you turn around. Seungmin sees your face straight on for the first time then, and it’s at that point he wonders what exactly is going through his head. He has no reason to trust you. Just because you pulled down a rather threatening sign, that doesn’t mean you’re there to help. You could be just as bad as the voice.

He sees realization dawn on your face, though he doesn’t know of what.

“It’s you!”

Well, he supposes you’re right. It _is_ him.

Your hands go up to cover the gasp that escapes your mouth, even though that doesn’t stop the sound from reaching Seungmin’s ears. A flash of fear crosses your face in a half-moment, so quick that Seungmin almost misses it. He doesn’t. Your eyes flit around the clearing—searching for what, he doesn’t know—but for some reason, the serious look on your face makes him shiver.

His eyes freeze in place when they meet with yours, the intense gaze shared between you more emotion-filled than anything he’s ever felt before. Your eye contact demands his in return.

“You must be the New Alice,” you say, muddy boots planted firmly in the dirt. Contemplation passes your expression for only a second before you pick up as much driftwood as you can with one hand, walk over to Seungmin, and take his hand in yours. “We need to go.” As you drag him down the _No way_ path, you grumble little nothings under your breath. Seungmin can’t tell what you’re saying with all the noise you and him make walking through the underbrush, and he can only hope you aren’t insane.

He asks questions.

_Who are you?_

_Where are we going?_

_What is this place?_

At his last question, you stop, and he bumps into your back, very nearly losing his balance. The sigh you let out moves through your entire body, your shoulders rising and falling. You turn around.

“Welcome to Wonderland.”

* * *

You lead him to some semblance of a home, though he can hardly call it that. It’s more of a lean-to, long branches rested at an angle against a tree, bigger than ones he’s seen boy scouts make, but too small to house a third person. Seungmin barely fits as is.

“Stay here,” you tell him as you pack more moss to the makeshift walls. “I’ll be back soon.” Before you make it more than five steps away, though, you turn around and take a deep breath. “Don’t make any noise. Not even a peep, got it?”

Seungmin can only nod, his arms wrapped around his knees, which are huddled up to his chest. He watches as you disappear in the trees, the night swallowing you up.

It only takes a few moments for panic to envelop him entirely. Where have you gone? What if you never come back? What if you leave him here?

What then?

He curses himself for being so compliant, so mesmerized by the reality of you that he didn’t stop to think if you really were… real.

The night is cold without you, and he shivers despite the lean-to blocking out the wind. Each second that passes by only increases his anxiousness and his need to do something— _anything_.

Scrambling off the rough bed of leaves, he crawls out. The pile of driftwood you managed to bring with you sits next to what can only be a fire pit, various rocks lining a circle around blackened turf. He stacks the wood in the pit, putting dry leaves in the center as kindling. But he’s missing something. Cursing, he pats his pockets for naught, if only he had—

Matches.

From his back pocket, he pulls out a metal box half the size of his palm. Delicate patterns decorate the tin in swirls and whorls, and when he shakes the box, hearing the distinct rattle of its contents, he already knows what’s inside.

It’s his grandfather’s old matchbox, the one his mother keeps in a small display case in the kitchen. _A family heirloom,_ she once said, _but please never smoke, sweetheart._

How the box ended up in his pocket, Seungmin has no idea. He hasn’t seen it in years—ever since he moved out. Regardless, Seungmin is cold and shivering. No need to make sense of a good thing.

The matches inside are the same ones his grandfather used to use, different from the ones you can buy at the dollar store. It takes a few tries striking them against the sandpaper, but eventually, a small lick of flame is in Seungmin’s fingers. He holds the match to the kindling, watching as the leaves take to flame. When he’s satisfied, he tosses what’s left of the match into the slow-building fire.

He sits there for a moment, in front of the miniature campfire, eyes following the smoke and sparks as they drift to the sky. The sky that isn’t his sky.

Seungmin sees it now. The stars aren’t the same as the ones he always saw. Each one is bigger, brighter. Constellations he’s never heard of float above him, connected by lines of light to show him exactly what he should see. Impossible.

_But anything is possible in Wonderland._

He doesn’t know where the thought comes from, but he knows it isn’t his own. Trying to figure out exactly what that means, his thoughts overtake him, so much so that he doesn’t hear your frantic return.

You stomp out the small fire with your boot, cursing under your breath. Seungmin can only watch in horror as you do the deed, too shocked to say anything until the last bit of flame is smothered.

“What are you do—”

You tackle him to the dirt, hand snuffing out his question as you hold him down. He tries to question you further with his eyes and his brows, but to no avail—you aren’t even looking at him anymore. Your head whips around, searching for yet another thing Seungmin doesn’t know.

He attempts again to speak, his words muffled against your hand.

“No fires,” you whisper, out of breath from running. “No fires, and no noise.” You sound so tired, and Seungmin can hear the scared tears in your voice much more than he can see them on your face (for they’re not there yet). “You’ll attract the Storytellers.”

Eventually, you let him go, but only after he assures you he’ll be quiet. You gesture for him to stay there, sitting by what once was the fire, and watch. More driftwood is in your hands—probably what you left for—as you crouch down across the pit. Making eye contact once again, you take one piece in both your hands and bend it until it splits. He sees you cringe at the loud noise it makes, but then he’s quickly distracted by what you show him.

Along the grain of the driftwood, the surface that appears when you split the piece glows orange. The light shines like embers, making your face right above it glow with warmth. You break the wood further, each bit of surface area you uncover glowing not as bright as a fire would, but warmer. Seungmin can feel the heat radiating from the broken driftwood when you hold it out for him to see.

“No smoke,” you whisper across the small pile of light you’ve made, “no smell, no crackling.”

As if that’s supposed to help him understand.

Seungmin only nods, too afraid to make any more sound. The glowing wood becomes the focus of his tunnel vision, each piece pulling at his curiosity. It isn’t possible.

 _But anything is possible in Wonderland._

There’s that thought again, in a voice that isn’t his. He doesn’t realize it’s yours.

* * *

Seungmin doesn’t remember falling asleep, only waking up.

You’re still sitting across the pit from him, eyes droopy as they stare unfocused at the driftwood. The pieces’ glows are gone, the only things left being little broken bits of wood. Sunlight hits you differently from moonlight. ****You’re no longer mysteriously ethereal, a creature of the night come to lure him to false hope, but a person. A person in the sunlight.

Only a moment later, you notice him staring.

“You’re back,” you say. Not _you’re up_ or _you’re awake_ , but back. Seungmin wonders what you mean, but hasn’t the confidence to ask. “You can talk now. They can’t hear you with the sun up.”

“Who?”

“The Storytellers.”

He remembers you mentioning them before, though he can’t discern what you mean. They can’t hear him with the sun up. What does that have to do with anything? “Why can’t they hear us?”

“The sun,” you answer, morning slowness leaking in your voice, “she’s singing too loud.”

Looking up to the sky, Seungmin squints his eyes as he glances at the sun for a quick moment. He can’t hear any singing.

“You can’t hear her now, she’s not singing for you.” The question he doesn’t ask is answered. “There’s much you need to learn about this place, New Alice. The Storytellers, they—”

“My name isn’t Alice,” he interrupts. It’s the only thing he can be sure of in this place, this Wonderland. That, and the fact that he doesn’t belong here.

You press on regardless. “I know your name isn’t Alice, but you’re the New Alice either way. I need you to listen, this—”

“My name is Seungmin. And I’m not the New Alice.”

Your eyes widen as you lean forward, almost as if studying him. “You… remember your name?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asks. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

You mumble your next words quietly, so quietly that Seungmin has to lean in himself. “Nothing, nothing. I guess they all remember, don’t they…”

“Who?”

“The Alices. And you’re the newest.”

Seungmin can’t find it in him to convince you otherwise. He is who he is. This… Alice—this New Alice, it’s not him. It can’t be him. He’s Seungmin. Kim Seungmin. He’s always been Seungmin.

Hasn’t he?

It’s not that he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or inadvertently call you stupid. God, he wishes he could. He just can’t.

“Come,” you say, standing and brushing dirt off your behind. “I’ll explain on the way.”

He can’t, because he doesn’t know what’s real anymore.

* * *

“Where are we going? You said you’d explain things.”

Seungmin’s irritation runs thick as you lead him through the brush, each nick and scratch from stray branches only adding to his annoyance. With his hand wrapped firmly in yours, he has no choice but to follow, and while you are seemingly his only companion in this place, he still takes no joy in the trek. Your silence throughout the trip hasn’t helped.

“We’re going to meet someone,” you answer simply. “And I’m trying to think of everything I must tell you first.”

He stops walking, and your attempt to keep going is cut by his firmly planted feet. “Then tell me,” he says, wrenching his hand from your grip. “Tell me what this place is. Who the Storytellers are. Who Alice is.”

He gulps, mouth suddenly dry, throat burning.

“Tell me who I am.”

An expression he can’t figure out crosses your face. It looks painful, almost. Heartbreaking. But Seungmin doesn’t know what to call it because it’s not pain or heartbreak—not really.

“I…” you start, and Seungmin thinks maybe your mouth has gone dry too. “This place is called Wonderland. You know that, don’t you?”

He does. Even before you told him, he knew. _Wonderland_.

At his nod, you continue, “It’s… a place like no other. Anything is possible here. Alice—the First Alice—she created Wonderland.”

“And where is the First Alice now?”

Your eyes are on the ground, the blue leaves, the purple grass. Anywhere but his eyes, where he wants them to be.

“Gone,” you answer, arms slowly rising to wrap around yourself. “She left a long time ago.”

The brokenness of your voice shoots pain through Seungmin’s chest. He doesn’t know why, but just hearing about the loss of this Alice makes his heart beat faster, harder. It hurts. But he won’t let it show.

“I see. And suppose I am the ‘New Alice.’ How many Alices are there? What happened to the last one?”

You seem about to answer, even after doubt flashes ‘cross both eyes, but a sound in the underbrush alerts you both. Your head turns to the noise, and your eyes widen. Quickly, you reach into your leather bag and pull out a small glass bottle. You shove it to his chest, whispering urgently, “Drink this, hurry!”

He doubts you for a second, as the small pastel “Drink Me” label on the bottle screams at him to stay away, but he hears shouts in the distance and sees your panicked expression. It’s enough for him to uncork the bottle and bring it to his lips.

Whatever is inside tastes strange. Of custard; buttered toast; toffee; cherry tart; roast turkey; pineapple. He’s so distracted by the flavour that he only barely registers the world growing around him, the stalks of grass rising to his height, the trees climbing to mountainous sizes. You follow soon after drinking from your own bottle, and it’s then he realizes that the world hasn’t grown; he’s shrunk.

“Hide!” you shout as the booming voices come closer, taking Seungmin by the arm and dragging him under the cover of a giant bush. He ducks down with you as you pull at blades of grass for even more protection.

Giant red boots stomp past, and Seungmin has a hard time worrying about being three centimetres tall when each pair that passes by yells something akin to:

“Find Alice!”

He looks to you, whose eyes are following the boots as they pass by. His voice comes out more scared than he likes. “Who are those people?”

You shush him, though there’s no way they’ll hear you when you’re so small. “The Heartsmen,” is your quiet answer. “They’re the Queen’s knights.”

“The Queen?”

“Of Hearts.”

The conversation stops there, and Seungmin can only watch as what feels like hundreds of Heartsmen march past. With each call and response about finding Alice, his heart sinks further and further.

He can’t be Alice, he tries to convince himself.

It doesn’t work.

Eventually, you deem the Heartsmen far enough away to begin walking again. When Seungmin asks why you haven’t returned to normal size, you simply tell him you need to be small where you’re headed anyways.

Everything seems more… more, when Seungmin is small. He can see each blade of grass, each bead of dew, each speck of dirt. Never before has he taken the time to realize how pretty a blade of grass can be. Your hand no longer holds his, but every few steps, you turn to check that he’s still following.

“Listen,” you finally say after a while of silence, “I don’t know how many Alices there have been, but every one has to go through the story. They go where they need to go and then they leave. The same thing should be happening to you, but something’s gone wrong.” As you push grass out of the way, holding it long enough for Seungmin to pass by as well, you sigh. “The last Alice was a mistake. They weren’t supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think…” You stop in your tracks and turn to face him. “I think you were supposed to be the last Alice. You were supposed to come when they came, but something went wrong, and they messed up Wonderland’s balance. That’s why you’re here instead of in the story.”

He studies you as you speak, eyes following the way your face sets with certainty and uncertainty at the same time. He asks, “What happened to the last Alice, the one I was supposed to be? Are they still here? In Wonderland?”

“They messed up the story. They have to be here somewhere…” Walking forward again, you seem frustrated, but Seungmin doesn’t know what for.

It seems he doesn’t know much of anything in Wonderland.

“Do you know who they are? What they look like?”

Your foot catches on a stray bit of gravel—now the size of a large rock in comparison—and Seungmin’s hand strikes out to catch you before you can fall. Once you stabilize yourself, you shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. You straighten up and roll your shoulders back.

“No,” you say. “I’ve never seen them before.”

* * *

It’s another while before either of you speak. Just you leading the way and him following. Seungmin almost finds it peaceful—walking through the forest at the size of a shrew. Whichever way he looks, he finds beauty in what he sees, in the dirt, the leaves, the sky. He can’t even describe what he’s seeing, as it is exactly how things look back home… but better.

He lets himself become mesmerized.

Only when you stop again does he snap out of it.

“This is as far as I go.”

“Why?”

“He’ll only talk to you. Now,” you begin to explain, pointing down a path once trodden by tiny feet, “keep going straight until you find a patch of red and yellow toadstool mushrooms. They should be about your height. Climb to the very tallest one—shouldn’t be too hard—but don’t cross onto the white spots. Only walk on the red or yellow, got it?”

“…No.”

“You’ll be fine.” You circle around him and put both hands on his back, pushing him towards the path. “Make sure to ask him how to leave, and _don’t step on the white spots._ ”

“Wait!” Seungmin tries in vain to protest as you push him further. “Where will you be?! You’re not going to ditch me, are you?!”

“You won’t see me once you cross the Story Border, but trust me. I’ll be here,” you assure him.

He doesn’t feel assured.

Seungmin turns fully, and for the first time, he sees your smile. It’s warm, but your eyes are sad. He meant to grab your wrists, to stop you from pushing him, but the sight of your grim smile has him pausing.

“I’ll be right here.”

And you push him. He stumbles back. You disappear.

Seungmin has no idea how it happens—it’s almost as if, in the millisecond that he blinks, you vanish like smoke. His hand reaches out subconsciously to where you once stood, fingers touching nothing but air.

The world around him has changed. Everything is more saturated, more… harsh. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.

He can’t help but trust your words. He has nothing else to go by.

The path you pointed him down looks more yellow now than before you left, everything around is slightly warmer in tone. Is this the Story Border you mentioned before? The Story? Then where was he before?

Why aren’t you in the Story?

He comes across the patch of mushrooms all too soon, and his thoughts of you are forced to the back of his mind. Each stalk is a soft eggshell white, and various different sizes create an almost-staircase for him to climb. It almost seems too easy. He steps upon the head of the shortest mushroom and cringes at the sensation. Seungmin never did like raw mushrooms.

It takes more concentration than he anticipates for each step while avoiding the white spots, his eyes kept low. He reaches the top, making sure to stay on the red, and looks around. Realizing too late that you never told him what to look for, he mumbles under his breath, “What now…?”

“My my, isn’t that the question.”

Seungmin turns, careful of his footsteps, to see… well, he doesn’t know, exactly.

He’d say it’s a caterpillar. That’s what it looks like—sort of, yet it doesn’t at the same time. Long green body, sixteen or so legs, stripes undeniably insect-like. But it looks at him with eyes he can’t call a bug’s, and the fact that it’s holding the pipe-end of a hookah throws the whole insect idea out the window. It doesn’t even have a mouth to speak or smoke from, yet Seungmin watches in horror as the non-caterpillar brings the pipe up, takes a drag, and puffs out a blue ring of smoke.

“It’s always about ‘What now’ with you kids. What about ‘What then’ or ‘What later’? Haven’t you ever thought about that, Alice?”

More shapes of smoke billow from the creature and float towards Seungmin. They smell of memories; of earl grey tea, of library books, of salty oceans, and they make him cough.

“Of—” he pauses to clear his throat “—of course I do.”

“Then you need not my guidance, Alice, if you already know _what later_.”

Seungmin scowls at the way the creature minces his words. “I don’t know ‘what later’. I’ve thought the question. Now tell me, how do I leave Wonderland?”

“Leave Wonderland?” He puffs out yet more smoke, which shapes itself into three letters. _W. H. Y._ “Why would you ever want to do that?”

“I don’t belong here.”

“But of course you do, Alice. You’ve been due here since long ago. There are many looking for you.”

“I don’t care,” Seungmin says as he steps forward. “I need to go home. How do I leave? Which way do I go?”

The mushroom beneath them trembles at Seungmin’s heavy step, but the caterpillar doesn’t flinch. “There is no way to go, only a way to know.”

Seungmin’s fists clench in frustration at the creature’s roundabout words. This isn’t how he needs it to go, this isn’t how it’s _supposed_ to go.

“Stop with the nonsen—”

Something shoots up his right leg—some sort of sensation he’s never felt before. It’s like liquid pulsing through, up, all the way to his throat where it chokes out the rest of his sentence. Seungmin looks down at his shoe, where his foot has stepped straight onto a white spot. His mouth gapes and his lips move uselessly; his words are gone, sound snuffed out by the phantom feeling now rushing through every square inch of his body. He feels his hands clutching at himself, nails scratching at the skin of his arms, his neck.

“Pity,” the creature drawls, though he isn’t the same creature Seungmin just met. His green body shifts to blackish purple right in front of Seungmin’s eyes, his arms grow to hideous lengths as he stretches to tower over Seungmin’s hunched figure.

Seungmin wants so badly to scream, but he can’t.

Gathering every last bit of his strength, Seungmin gets up and bolts, not caring where his feet go anymore as long as it’s _away_. He descends the toadstool staircase faster than he’s ever gone before, running as quickly as he can down the path he came from. Where someone is waiting for him. Someone he trusts.

He runs and he runs and he runs, choking on the liquid creeping up his throat as he goes, but the path just seems to go on and on and on. Colours he can’t name crowd his vision, blurring the edges so all he can see is straight ahead. Voices whisper in his ear. _Come back. Leave. Keep going. Never return._ The world sways and he wants to throw up, but he can only go forward. He can only keep running.

His feet take him away on nothing but adrenaline, his head swimming with insanity and colour.

A flash of white. Green. Soft blues and purples.

You, sitting on a pebble with your back to him. Your dirty grass-stained boots, your disheveled hair. Your leather bag.

Familiar.

He falls.

* * *

Seungmin awakes to the taste of sugar and strawberries on his tongue, his mouth dry as his eyelids flutter open.

His head is in your lap, cradled by one of your hands as the other brushes his hair out of his eyes.

“Shit,” you whisper, breathless. Seungmin can see the tears threatening to burst past your eyelashes. “I thought I killed you.”

He moves his arms in an attempt to sit up, but you place your hand softly on his chest, guiding him to lie down once again.

“Just a little longer.” Your voice is so soft, so warm, and your beckoning has his eyes fluttering shut. “Let the earth take the poison away.”

You’re right. The dirt beneath him is cold but soothing. Every feeling he had before seeps out of him and into the earth below. His fingers curl, squishing cool black dirt into his palm and bringing him a sense of grounding he desperately needs after what happened—though he barely knows what happened at all.

After an indiscernible while, Seungmin opens his eyes and looks at you above him. You’re both back to normal size, his head still on your lap and yours lolled to the side, asleep.

The sun still shines in the sky, and he prays he’s still protected from the Storytellers like you said.

He clears his throat. “Is there usually poison in the Story?”

You startle awake at his question, blinking a few times to process what he said. “Not so bad as this,” you answer with a slight smile.

“The balance?”

“The balance.”

Only a short while ago, Seungmin wanted to get up, to move, to continue looking for a way out, but being here, on the calming ground, in your warm embrace, he wants to stay. He knows he can’t, and he knows that eventually, you too will want to leave this small clearing. To him, you’re reality, but to you, he must be a burden.

Perhaps you lived a peaceful life before he showed up. At least you know when to stay quiet, how to keep warm at night, where to go for what you need. Seungmin has been helpless since he fell into Wonderland. Yet you helped him from the beginning.

Who are you?

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“You… don’t know your own name?”

The corner of your lip quirks up, and your eyes move from his to your fiddling fingers, which are picking at the roughened skin of your thumb. “I dropped it somewhere. Can’t find it.”

“That’s impossible,” he tries to argue, though he knows it’s not.

“Oh, but anything is possible in Wonderland.”

* * *

Seungmin has to wonder if this forest is never-ending, what with the endless amount of walking you’ve led him to do.

He tries to lighten the mood, as ever since the incident with the creature, you’ve become more serious about getting him back in the Story. “You’re not leading me to another nightmare, are you?”

“That’s the plan,” you tell him as you push yet another branch of foliage out of the way. “I’m guessing Ringworm didn’t tell you how to leave?”

“Ringworm?”

“He calls himself Caterpillar, but I don’t really believe him.” Your boots squish through mud, but even though Seungmin’s following right behind, no water seeps through his sneakers. He doesn’t think much of it. “Anyways, he didn’t tell you anything, and since he and I are the only ones who know how, we need to find a different way to get you out.”

“Wait.”

His hand circles your bicep, stopping you in your tracks. You turn to face him with a look of nothing but innocence, eyes slightly wide with question. Seungmin only gawks at you for a second because, to him, it’s obvious why he stopped you.

“You’ve known how to leave… this whole time?” he asks, incredulous.

Slowly, you nod your head. Once. Twice.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your lips roll inwards, making a thin line as you press them together. Eyes flitting elsewhere, you look as if you want to dodge the question, but know you can’t. You take a deep breath through your nose and close your eyes before breathing out again and looking to Seungmin.

“Hmm hmm hm hmm hm.” Your throat rumbles, but your lips stay clamped shut.

Seungmin almost wants to laugh, it’s so ridiculous. How dare you keep this information from him all this time and now have the audacity to patronize him? “Excuse me?”

“I just tried to tell you how to leave,” you explain. “But as you can see, I can’t actually say it.”

“Stop joking around, this is serious.”

“I’m not joking. It’s the strings.”

Before he can ask—because you know he’s going to—you hum again, obviously trying to say something. It’s almost as if you’re attempting to talk with duct tape over your mouth. He can hear the emphasis, but not the words. Wanting to call your bluff, he reaches out his hand to your lips, though he doesn’t know exactly what he’s planning to do.

You keep up with your smothered non-words and grab his fingers before they can reach you. Tentatively, you step closer, allowing his fingertips to brush against your lips. His eyes go wide at the boldness of the situation, but your serious demeanor keeps him from pulling away, and he stays put. You move your hand so that it ghosts over his, your thumb on his thumb, your forefinger on his forefinger. Guiding him, you pinch his fingers together between your two lips, and his eyes widen further when he feels something press into the pads of his fingers. Thin, tense, like thread.

It can’t be real, he thinks. He can’t see it. But as he tugs—just slightly—at the invisible thread, he sees the flesh of your lip shift, stretching out as if he’s pulling the lip itself.

He snatches his hand away, almost as if he’s burned himself on a hot stove, and he stumbles back, mouth open but no words coming through.

You sigh. “See? I told you, it’s the strings.” Your shoulders sag almost imperceptibly, and you look defeated, as if in this small moment, there’s nothing you can do. Seungmin wishes that were wrong. “Anything you truly need to know, I can’t tell you.” The breath you take is shaky, but you hold back anything else that could give way to your emotions. “I’m sorry.”

Seungmin doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do.

He hates how much he has to realize he doesn’t know anything.

“It’s fine,” he says.

Because it’s all he can say.

You turn and keep walking as if nothing happened, and Seungmin has to blink a few times before he realizes that you’re moving on. As you lead him further through the forest, the silence between you is palpable—so palpable that Seungmin thinks if he squeezes hard enough, it could crumble. He doesn’t like the silence, not when you’re right there in front of him.

Just as he’s about to say something, you cover his mouth and point up to the sky. His eyes follow your finger, where he sees birds flying overhead. Though, something about their wings isn’t right, the way they flap is strange.

“Umbrella vultures,” you explain under your breath. Seungmin’s about to ask why they’re called that until he realizes exactly what’s off about the birds’ wings. They open and close. Like umbrellas. “They won’t eat you, but don’t let them hear your sorrows. They’ll cry for hours—won’t let you hear the end of it.”

He reaches up and removes your hand from his jaw. “I wasn’t going to say anything sad.”

“Sure, but you’re in a sorrowful situation. They’ll hear it in your voice, follow us. And he hates umbrella vultures—they keep stealing his hats to match their wings.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.” Continuing down your path, you hold Seungmin’s hand to help him over a fallen tree. He wishes you won’t let go, but you do. “He doesn’t really have a name. I just call him Sixpence.”

Seungmin wants to swallow his words, but he also wants to know. “Did he—his name… did he drop it somewhere?” He takes a breath. “Like you?”

While you don’t stop walking, Seungmin can tell from your change in gait that he really shouldn’t have asked.

“No. He’s just mad like that, I suppose.”

* * *

The smell of tea and pastry wafts through the forest, the pervasive scent causing Seungmin’s nose to scrunch in irritation. It’s not the smell he hates, per se, it’s the sheer amount of it in the air.

“Is this… tea party across the Story Border as well?”

“Only half, but don’t worry about that. We won’t need to cross this time,” you say, seemingly unbothered by the thick, sweet-scented air. Eventually, you whip around on your feet and stop him just before he can walk into another clearing, one hand planted firmly on his shoulder. “Alright, we go in, we go out. Try not to say anything weird, and, for the love of god, don’t mention your birthday.”

“But it’s not my birthday.”

“Exactly.”

Without another word, you break into the clearing, where Seungmin’s vision is invaded with pinks and blues and purples of all shades. A long wooden table spans the length of the oddly circular clearing, covered inch by inch with piles of teapots, teacups, dessert platters and more. The smell is almost doubled here, and Seungmin finds it hard not to choke on nothing but air.

A line of white stones splits the table in half and runs all the way across the grass, cutting the whole area in two. It must be the Story Border. Seungmin makes sure to remember not to cross it, still wary of the last time he tried delving into the Story.

No one is there but you and him, the table strangely silent despite all the fanfare.

“Don’t eat anything,” you whisper.

He wasn’t planning on it.

Quietly, Seungmin watches and follows as you make your way to the table. You grab a few items from the mess, including bottles he recognizes from your bag and some cookies with “eat me” written in frosting. The bottles, he sort of understands—they were quite useful before, and he assumes the cookies are just as so. You stuff the things in your pouch and creep further up the table, closer to the center, opening up each teapot you pass and peeking inside.

“What are you looking for?”

“Shh,” you shush him, bringing a finger up to your lips. “She doesn’t like waking up to loud noises.”

Seungmin scoffs, offended. Him? Loud?

You ignore his appalled expression, continuing down the table until you reach a mulberry purple teapot and look inside. Seungmin gasps when you sink your hand in the pot and scoop out a fluffy white… something. Sporting a small, warm smile, you gently pet the something with two fingers, slowly coaxing it awake. It unfurls itself from how it was sleeping, revealing a tiny, pink button nose and matching long tail.

A mouse.

Seungmin looks on in awe as you bring up the mouse to your face, booping your noses together, your eyes squeezing shut as you do.

“Hey Dorie,” you say softly, petting the mouse again. “It’s tea time.”

The mouse, Dorie, Seungmin supposes, nuzzles into your face and hops from the cup of your palm to your shoulders, crawling across from left to right and tickling your neck with her white fur. You giggle and scrunch your shoulders at the feeling. Seungmin thinks he’s never seen you this happy before, all smiles as the mouse plays around; climbs up on top of your head; jumps right back into your palm. Your cute laughter fills the clearing as you lower your arm and the mouse scurries off under the table.

Seungmin is about to ask what’s going on—he’s been doing quite a lot of that lately—when someone pops up from under the table, trying to say hello before they bonk their head on the edge and fall right back down again.

He swears he’s seen something like that before, but he shakes off the thought as he looks at you, bewildered. You shrug.

Whoever the person is crawls out from under the table on hands and knees, wearing perhaps the most ridiculous outfit Seungmin’s ever seen. When he emerges and stands, the tails of his coat—made completely of patches—swish behind him. Colours that absolutely clash are sewn together haphazardly to make his clothes, and pincushions protruding thick needles and pins adorn both his wrists. A comically large purple top hat sits on top of his head with Dorie lying on the brim, asleep again. Feathers and a slip of parchment protrude from the hatband, reading “10/6”.

_10 shillings, 6 pence._

“Alice!” he cheers, walking up to you and enthusiastically shaking your hand in both of his. “So good of you to come just in time for tea!”

Your eyes widen just a fraction as he continues to shake your hand, but you hide the surprise after a second. Seungmin can’t even be sure he saw it in the first place.

“Actually,” you say, gesturing to Seungmin, “ _this_ is the New Alice.”

Not knowing whether you want him to say anything, Seungmin simply smiles and bows his head in greeting.

“Ooh!” Sixpence waltzes over to Seungmin and whips out measuring tape from his sleeve, immediately wrapping it around Seungmin’s head. “Fifty-six centimeters...” he mutters under his breath. “Tell me, New Alice: have any interest in hats?”

Seungmin tilts his body to make eye contact with you over Sixpence’s shoulder. You make a slicing motion with your hand at your neck, shaking your head no as if he needs more to go on.

“Not particularly,” Seungmin answers.

Sixpence’s lips shift into a pout. “Pity.”

“Say,” you draw his attention back to you, though Sixpence’s hands are still holding the measuring tape at Seungmin’s temple, “what do you think is the wildest place in Wonderland?”

“Wild? Is Wonderland wild to you?”

“Well we can’t all be mercury-mad like you, Pencie.” You toy with a teacup on the table. “So what do you think? The singing flower beds? The know-it-all doorknob?”

Sixpence pulls some cuts of fabric from one of his many pockets, holding them up to Seungmin’s face and comparing them to his skin tone. “If there’s one more mad than I, it is the Queen of Hearts, darling. And she has no mercury to blame for her madness.”

You sigh, the sound itself making Seungmin disheartened even though he doesn’t know why.

“I thought you’d say that.”

“Well don’t sound so glum now, Alice,” Sixpence says to you. Seungmin wants to correct him again, but he thinks talking might just dig him an unwanted hole. “Why must you ask such strange questions if you are to be saddened by the answer?”

You walk up to the both of them, gently removing Sixpence’s hands from Seungmin’s head. “I was hoping to avoid that place, but you’re right,” you resign as you take off some patches Sixpence pinned to Seungmin’s clothes, “the craziest place here is the Red Palace. It’s where all the Alice’s escape.”

“Escape?” Sixpence sputters. “Why Alice, you are utterly bumming me out! The only thing that could possibly bring me cheer now is a birthday party. Say, New Alice,” he addresses Seungmin, whose head is spinning with who Sixpence thinks is who, “is it your birthday?”

Seungmin doesn’t see the way your hands go up in distress, though it wouldn’t matter anyways—even you can’t get him out of what comes next. 

“No?”

Sixpence gasps, both hands coming up to fan his face as an unnaturally wide smile spreads over his lips. Slapping your palm to your forehead, you groan into your hand. Music starts playing. Where from, Seungmin has no idea, but it’s cheerful and buoyant, like a children’s tune.

“I wish you a very merry unbirthday, New Alice!” Sixpence cheers before breaking into song. The music is too loud, Seungmin can barely hear whatever lyrics Sixpence is singing. He watches as Sixpence begins dancing, twirling away and around the table, pouring tea to no one. His ears begin to ring with activity as the music overtakes everything around him. He can’t hear anything but the music in his head, his eyes stuck to Sixpence’s dancing, watching the way he bounces, the way Dorie, on his hat brim, doesn’t so much as stir.

Something in him wants to sing, wants to dance. His fingers tingle with pins and needles, his toes twitch with the need for movement, his head swims with the one possibility. He opens his mouth to sing lyrics he doesn’t know yet, but his voice is muffled by a hand covering his lips. With all the dazed confusion he feels, he can’t tell whose hand it is. In fact, he can’t even remember who is there with him. He tries in vain to sing into the offending skin, but only muffled noises escape—not heard above the music, anyhow.

Another hand fumbles to grab his, fingers intertwining to ensure he won’t let go, and suddenly he’s being dragged away. His ears burn to get closer to the music, but the force of whoever is pulling him is too strong. Seungmin trips over his own two feet as he starts to run with the person leading him. He doesn’t know why, but the feeling of his hand in theirs, warm and secure, is reassuring enough that even the song starts to fade away.

The ringing continues, loud enough to drown out the sounds of his fast footsteps and thoroughly disorienting, but Seungmin’s fingers stop tingling, the music disappears, and he feels the jolts in his legs of his feet hitting the dirt. He looks to his hand and the one attached, eyes trailing up the arm and finding you right ahead of him. 

It’s always you, isn’t it?

Not that Seungmin has anyone else here in Wonderland to fall back on, but something in him at that moment wishes he’s the one saving you instead. He shakes out the thought, focusing instead on the way your steps seem less calculated and more frenzied. He laughs.

At the sound, you slow to a stop, turning to look at him. Your eyes are wide, mouth slightly gaping so you could catch your breath. For some reason, this only causes more laughter to escape from Seungmin.

“You’re alright?”

It’s something about the situation. It’s just so ridiculous. Seungmin doesn’t know where he is other than the name, and it’s a place he never knew existed before he fell right in. A place filled with disembodied purple cats, mysterious storytellers, mad hatters. And you. How is Seungmin so lucky to have stumbled upon you, someone who reminds him of the real world?

He can’t help the laughter that continuously falls from his lips. He’s going crazy, he must be.

Hesitantly, you join his laughter. The mixture of your giggles with his is melodious, beautiful, and he almost wishes to stay in this moment forever, where nothing bad is happening—it’s only you and Seungmin and Wonderland. But of course it has to end.

“God,” you sigh, pulling your hand from his grip to run it through your hair, still laughing breathlessly. “I hate that song.”

Seungmin looks at the hand you’ve left hanging, fingers feeling disconnected and cold without your touch. Suddenly his laughter is gone. Silence fills the air as your awkward chuckles die out.

“Hey, are you alright?”

Seungmin has no words to say—he can’t think of any. It’s all too much, the situation, Wonderland, him, you. Tears threaten to break past his eyelashes. Choked nothings fall past his lips when his eyes meet yours, his hand held open in front of him.

He doesn’t know how you figure him out so easily, but your grim smile forces his heart to start beating again.

You hold out your hand.

* * *

“You’re not from here, are you?”

Seungmin’s hand is warm and clammy holding yours, but he has no plans of letting go. You lead him through the forest, impossibly knowing how to get home when everything (to Seungmin) looks the exact same as it was ten steps ago.

...Since when did he call that place home?

“No, I’m not,” you say, though you sound resigned to the subject.

That doesn’t stifle Seungmin’s curiosity.

“How did you get here?”

“Through the rabbit hole.”

He stumbles, but quickly regains his footing. “Like me?”

“I suppose so,” you sigh. The sun is already on its way past the horizon, and you shield your eyes from its rays.

“How long have you been here?” he continues to berate. Seungmin knows you are strong, yet he’s felt your sensitivity in response to his questions before. He doesn’t know why he keeps asking now.

“Time works differently in Wonderland,” you answer without looking back at him. You haven’t looked to him in a short while. “You’ve been here for what feels like a day, but when you return, it will be like you never left.”

Seungmin is aware you know more than him—information you can’t share because of the threads sewing your lips shut. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

You sigh again, tired. “I stopped counting the days after a while, okay? A few years maybe. I don’t know.”

Seungmin’s head spins at the idea of being in Wonderland for so long. It’s only been a day since he arrived, and he already thinks he’s gone crazy. Though something about you makes that train of thought come to an abrupt stop.

“How come—” he gulps “—you haven’t left? If you know the way...”

The scoff that comes from your lips is sardonic, so pessimistic that Seungmin almost regrets asking. Your mood has clearly plunged, but your hand keeps firm around his fingers.

“Unfortunately,” you spit, “I don’t get to escape like all you other Alices. Life isn’t fair that way.”

Seungmin’s questions stop then, though your words ring in his head.

 _Like all you other Alices_.

* * *

The Red Palace doesn’t live up to its name. Well, it certainly is a palace, huge walls of stone with unmistakable castle spires protruding at strange angles. It’s not red though, and for some reason, Seungmin feels the need to point that out.

It’s too early, he thinks, but then he remembers how time doesn’t work the same in Wonderland. He feels too awake for it to be morning.

“It’s not actually called “The Red Palace,” only I call it that,” you inform him, and he realizes you’ve done the same for everything else—the Storytellers, Ringworm, Sixpence. 

Seungmin thinks you’ve forgiven him for the night before. He doesn’t regret the questions he asked because the answers keep him thinking. You’ve been in Wonderland for so long, yet, as you told him before setting out this morning, he’s going to leave today.

You haven’t told him how, exactly, though you seem to have some semblance of a plan. He can tell from the way you walk, the way your eyes scan the outer walls. He follows silently behind you, note taken of your hand held up, pointer finger jutting out as if to shush him before he can say a word. Voices travel through the stone walls, muffled with distance, but even quieted, Seungmin remembers the day before—the Heartsmen.

_“Find Alice!”_

“Wait wait wait,” he whispers hurriedly. Reaching out, his hand finds the crook of your elbow, stopping you from creeping further along the wall. “Isn’t the Queen of Hearts after me? Aren’t the Heartsmen looking for me with swords and stuff?”

You frown, the corners of your mouth digging into your cheeks, brows furrowed. “No, why would they? They’ve never seen you before.”

Seungmin pauses to think for a moment. Of course what you said makes sense, he’s never met the Queen of Hearts, nor her knights. What that doesn’t explain is what the Heartsmen yelled the day before.

_“Find Alice!”_

“Then— then yesterday, who were they looking for?”

Your eyes blow wide as you realize exactly what he means. Glancing to the ground, left and right, you take a deep breath and set your lips in a thin line.

“The Defect Alice,” you say.

“What?”

When you look into his eyes again, Seungmin’s breath hitches. You seem to have that effect on him lately.

“The Queen wants the Defect Alice’s head. She’s been searching for them ever since they disrupted the balance.”

“Then why did we hide?”

You don’t answer for a second, the only thing that exists between the castle wall and the forest is your eyes on him. Seungmin thinks his heart is pounding—loud enough for the Storytellers to hear—because he’s scared of what’s to come. You have nothing to do with the blood rushing to his ears.

He’s barely known you for two days.

You make a resigned noise, turning away to continue along your predetermined path. “I don’t like being questioned by the Heartsmen,” you answer. “They’re annoying—go on for hours. I avoid them whenever I can.”

That’s something Seungmin has noticed about you. Your back. You talk as you walk ahead of him. Now, he hasn’t known you for very long, but the more he looks at your back—the nape of your neck, the subtle movements of your shoulders—the more an awful feeling drips down his throat like freshly-melted ice. He can’t say what the feeling is, exactly, but he knows it’s familiar.

Maybe... you’re hiding something.

And all Seungmin wants is for that to be wrong.

“Shh.” You bring your finger to your lips even though Seungmin hasn’t said anything. Still, he stops when you hold your arm out in front of him.

He hears it now, the voices cheering, oohs and aahs flying through the air. You’ve reached a corner. Seungmin has to wonder why no Heartsmen, if they are the queen’s knights, are guarding the outer walls. Though, nothing has truly made sense since he arrived anyways. The cheers rise and fall with fervor, though Seungmin can’t really tell what’s happening within the Red Palace. With quiet steps, you lead him to an open gate while keeping close to the stone bricks. He can’t see through the gate at this angle, but he can see a line of small white pebbles in the grass, which spans from end to end. The Story Border again.

But this time, you’ll cross with him. You will. That’s what you said—he remembers from just after he woke up.

“We’re going to the Red Palace.”

_We._

“Okay,” you whisper, turning to face Seungmin, “this is it. It’s different here from Ringworm or the tea party. Let the flow take you. Question what happens. Remember what Ringworm said. _There’s only a way to know.”_ You straighten his clothes out, hands brushing over his shoulders as if you’re his mother sending him off to prom. “It might be scary, but the more it is, the more likely you’ll be able to escape.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to die.”

“You won’t.” Hands paused, your eyes meet his, hardened. You take a breath, seemingly convincing yourself more than him. “You won’t.”

Seungmin can feel the warmth of your hands through his shirt, the undeniable human-ness that is you. You’re from the real world, just like him, you came to Wonderland just as he did. He knows you’ve been here much longer, but also that you hate it. You want to return, he is sure. Which is why he says—

“Come with me.”

You misunderstand him at first, eyes squinting as you’re about to say you _are coming_ , but he cuts you off.

“We’ll leave together,” he pleads, voice just barely more than a breath. “We’ll leave Wonderland together.”

His hands rise, fingers trailing up from your elbows until they reach your hands on his shoulders. They wrap around your wrists, thumbs pressing into your palms. He brings your hands, clasped in his, to his chest, where his heart beats wildly.

“Come with me.”

Your eyes widen—whether for his hands or his proposal, Seungmin doesn’t know; he waits for you.

“It... it doesn’t work like that. When you hmm hm—” invisible threads hold your lips shut, but you continue without acknowledging it “—I can’t do the same. I can’t hmm hm like you can.”

He wants desperately to know what you’re saying, yet, even then, your answer would be the same.

“Why not—”

“I’m not coming with you.” You try to pull your hands from his grasp, but he holds steady. “It’s not my choice—it’s just fact.”

His grip on your hands tightens despite how sweaty his palms have become. He won’t admit it, but...

He’s terrified.

Of dying, yes. Of never being able to escape, yes. But most of all, he’s scared to fail and leave you with the consequences. It’s the suffocating idea that you will have to compensate for what he does, just as you have been helping him all this time. You wouldn’t have to if you’d only come with him.

But you can’t. And you won’t tell him why.

“Then,” he pauses, mouth suddenly dry. He licks his lips. “Can you do something for me?”

You seem surprised from his sudden question, but your uncertainty is quickly wiped away with a playful quirk of your lips. Maybe you’re trying to keep the mood light; it’s not working. Your eyes plead for him to feel better. “I can try.”

He doesn’t know why he wants this from you.

“Say my name?”

Seungmin’s voice rises to a squeak at the end of his request, his nerves nearly bursting as his eyes divert to the way your hands fit in his.

“You— you know it, don’t you?” He stumbles over his words, but he refuses to back down. “Why haven’t you ever called me by my name?”

Taking a deep breath, you keep a grim smile on your face. You finally squeeze his hands back, though the movement is restrained with how tightly he’s got your fingers. “I know your name, it’s just—“ you sigh “—I don’t want to get attached. I don’t want to miss you once you go.”

“You’re going to... forget about me?”

You look down.

“Just like that?”

Your silence deafens.

“I know— I know I’ve been a burden, but please, don’t forget me,” he begs. “I don’t know your name, but— but I won’t ever forget you—I know I won’t! This has been the worst few days of my life, but with you it was better! You made me feel like I wasn’t lost and... and I don’t know much but I know I want to remember you and I want you to remember me because—”

“Seungmin.”

His name on your lips, the sound halts him. His heart thrashes against its cage.

“Seungmin,” you say again, and your voice ricochets in his chest. “I’m not going to forget you.” Eyes on his, your face is set, firm on convincing him. “As much as I don’t want to get attached, as much as I want to forget you—forget this feeling. I know I won’t.” Your hands pull out of his grasp only to return, holding his hands together in a feeble attempt to assure him. “So don’t worry, Seungmin.”

His mouth is still dry. Perhaps his tear ducts are stealing every bit of water from his body. His throat hurts.

“But Seungmin, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

He nods.

“Forget about me, Seungmin.” Impossibly, you step closer. “Can you do that?”

Perhaps he truly has gone insane, because Seungmin can’t tell heads or tails if you’re being serious. “...Why?”

Your lips purse together, the corners of your lips stretching as your cheeks lift in a forced smile. “It’s just easier,” you say as you drop your arms, hands still locked around his own. Seungmin’s arms swing a bit in your hold when you step back and meet his gaze. You’re smiling, but Seungmin can see the faintest evidence of tears behind your eyes. As sad as it is, he can’t tell if you’re crying—about to cry—because you don’t want him to leave, or because you do. “But Seungmin...”

His name in your voice beckons his attention again. He just can’t seem to hear it enough.

“Seungmin, Seungmin, Seungmin,” you repeat again and again, the smile on your face growing. You swing his hands in yours like a child, a skip in your step as you walk backwards, leading him closer to the gate. He barely notices, as your mantra of his name has him hypnotized. “You’re going home, Seungmin. Aren’t you happy?”

“I... guess.”

“Exactly, Seungmin. We’re happy right now.” Your smile agrees with your words, and yet he can’t help but think you’re lying. “We’re happy, so forget about me. I don’t know my own name, it’ll be easy. Seungmin,” you ask as you step out fully in front of the gate. Seungmin isn’t in the right mind to question why no one has spotted you. Turning, you position yourself so his back faces the opening. “Have you ever played croquet?”

The last word leaves your lips broken, your eyes finally giving way to tears as you wrench your hands up and push both palms to his chest. He stumbles back, over the Story Border, and just like before, you disappear.

Unlike before, he knows you’re coming with him. You’re going to cross that border.

...

Won’t you?

He waits and he waits and he waits.

Enough. You promised him. (But did you really.)

He goes to cross back over the border, to grab you and make you join him because you _promised_. But his body collides with an invisible force, and he stumbles back. He shakes his head, disoriented, and brings his hand up to touch what he can’t see. His hand stops when it comes in contact with what feels like glass, yet doesn’t. It’s like glass and water at the same time, an undeniable feeling he can’t describe. Clenching his fist, he bangs against the invisible wall which makes no sound, about to cry out your name before he remembers you have none.

“Hey!” he yells instead, but he quiets when he hears panicked nothings behind him.

When he turns at the comeuppance, he sees three Heartsmen rushing past, carrying not spears or swords, but pneumatic spray guns, tanks of compressed air strapped to their backs. Seungmin watches in awe as they spray bush after bush of white roses red. Badly. The paint sprays past the petals, hitting the leaves behind them, while only covering the front of the flower. Maybe they’re meant to look like that, creating a gradient, but Seungmin doubts it with the messy way the Heartsmen apply the red paint.

“What are you doing?!” one of them suddenly shouts, startling Seungmin so much that he jumps. “Paint the roses red!”

“I...” Seungmin trails off, “I don’t...”

A sudden weight on his back has him stumbling forward. His hands reach out to steady himself, which is when he sees a pneumatic sprayer held by his own fingers. He peeks over his shoulder to see an air tank attached behind him.

“Well what are you waiting for?” another Heartsman prods.

Seungmin tries to remember what you told him.

_Let the flow take you._

_Question what happens._

He wants to wait for you, but—though it’s a dark thought—he knows you aren’t coming. 

He follows.

The rose garden is never-ending as Seungmin follows the Heartsmen through, painting each white flower he sees. Just with his nose, he can tell the paint isn’t really paint. It smells sweet—like syrup, and as it lands on the flowers it crystallizes, turning shiny and reflective under the sunlight. 

What exactly did you mean by “question what happens,” he wonders. Seungmin has been questioning everything since he arrived. Nothing makes sense. The only conclusion he’s come to is that Wonderland is on an entirely different plane of existence—though why that means anything, he has no idea.

 _Why_ is anything happening, perhaps, is the question. But Seungmin has no answer for that. _Why_ is he painting white roses red. _How_ did he get an air compressor strapped to his back. _Why_ did you leave him.

_Why._

He wants so badly to forget about you. After all, you just left him—again—to fend for himself, maybe even to die in the Red Palace. You pushed him away again, a harsh, cold-hearted move that almost makes Seungmin wonder why he ever trusted you in the first place. Yet... your teary-eyed expression burns bright in the forefront of his mind. The feeling of your palms on his chest, the same way they were before he met Ringworm, plays again and again in his nerves. Phantom pushes keep racking against him, almost like your ghost is shoving him even after you’ve disappeared. 

Have you left? Have you already started to forget him?

In all his thinking, Seungmin doesn’t realize how the cheers and hollers become louder and closer with each rosebush he paints. It’s not until he sprays a random Heartsman’s glove with red syrup that he looks up and finds himself in the middle of a peanut gallery. Hundreds of men (are they _all_ Heartsmen?) surround some sort of playing field, where, beyond what Seungmin can see, a riveting game takes place. It must be riveting, what with all the ruckus. The red-gloved man doesn't even notice Seungmin or his newly candied garment, simply cheering along with everyone else.

Ditching the paint equipment and shaking out his shoulders, Seungmin pushes through the crowd to the front. He doesn't know exactly what's driving him to be this impulsive, but he won't question that now. Go with the flow was your advice, and go with it he will.

It’s a croquet pitch. He should’ve known.

No one is playing yet, which confuses Seungmin. Why is everyone cheering? He looks around, trying to follow the eyes of the crowd, which leads him to another entrance to the court. More Heartsmen flood out, carrying banners and paraphernalia covered in card suits—mostly hearts. There’s no rhyme or reason to the decor, each surface covered haphazardly in black and red patterns.

A white blur dashes out among the Heartsmen’s boots, looking awfully familiar. Seungmin’s eyes widen as they take in the sight: the rabbit. It’s the one he followed into Wonderland, the rabbit walking on two legs and wearing a red velvet coat, monocle on cheek and pocket watch in hand. Paw. Though, instead of a pocket watch (which must be in his... pocket) the rabbit holds a small bugle. Impossibly, the rabbit blows into the horn, silencing the crowd with trumpeting fanfare. Rabbits can’t play trumpets—Seungmin’s almost sure about that, but then again, he hasn’t been sure of anything in Wonderland.

_Question what happens._

Does the rabbit have anything to do with how he got here? Seungmin doesn’t know what questions to ask. Before he can think further, the fanfare ceases.

“Presenting!” Seungmin tries to find which Heartsman is the source of the voice, but when he finds none, he gapes at the moving mouth of the white rabbit. “Her Grace! Her Royal Majesty! Her Excellency! The Queen of Hearts!”

He doesn’t know which part is more surprising—a rabbit playing the trumpet or a rabbit speaking. Both are bizarre, really. There isn’t much time to brood over that though, not with the grand entrance of the Queen.

There aren’t many words to describe the Queen of Hearts. Sure, Seungmin could say she walks with a stride of utmost confidence, that her red, high heeled boots —which shine oddly bright in the sunshine—crawl almost all the way up her stick-thin legs. He could say the tails of her black and red overcoat drift elegantly to the ground, almost as if they’re lighter than air. He could say that on her face, long and thin, a smile, cheery yet sinister stretches across, almost hiding the way blood red lipstick shapes her lips in a gruesome, distorted heart. But there’s so much more to it that he can’t explain. He can’t explain why her figure looks thin as paper, like if she turned ninety degrees, she’d disappear; yet her presence is just so prominently... _there_. It’s a feeling so foreign, so macabre, that Seungmin can do nothing but hold onto bated breath, waiting for the promised flow to take him again.

He just hopes it isn’t towards her.

_If there is one more mad than I, it is the Queen of Hearts._

Seungmin doesn’t remember Sixpence to be all too mad. Perhaps strange—weird, indeed, but mad? He thinks the Queen might truly be so.

“And... the King,” the rabbit finishes. It’s only then that Seungmin notices the shorter, plumper man trailing behind the Queen of Hearts, who sports an oddly warm smile—strong in contrast to the Queen, whose eerie smile sends a shiver down Seungmin’s spin each time he catches a glimpse.

The Queen opens her mouth, and Seungmin resists the urge to cover his ears.

“Bring out!” she cries, the sound sharp and leaving a ring reverberating in Seungmin’s head, “The Gardeners!”

From the sidelines, Seungmin watches as the very Heartsmen he painted flowers with rush to the Queen. They bow to the floor at her feet, noses pressed to the preened grass.

“Tell me, boys,” the Queen’s voice slicks, almost making Seungmin cringe with the greasy way her words leave her throat, “why are there _white_ roses in my garden?”

From nowhere, she pulls out a half-painted rose, the sprayed syrup still wet on its petals. A spot of dread drips down Seungmin’s neck.

The Heartsmen blubber in response, throwing around blame to each other, talking of mismatched seeds and planting mishaps and the like. They speak in nonsensical rhymes that Seungmin can’t seem to follow, tripping over each other in order to desperately explain themselves. But even from where he stands, Seungmin can tell the Queen isn’t listening to a single word.

“Silence,” she says, voice flat. “Off with their heads.”

It’s too casual, Seungmin thinks, how easily the words glide off her tongue and how fast the gardeners are dragged away by fellow Heartsmen, strangled protests falling on deaf ears.

He doesn’t know why what happens... happens, but one second, Seungmin watches in horror as three men are sentenced to death, and the next, his feet step forward.

“Your Majesty!” his lips betray him.

All eyes turn to him, and it seems the world is silent. Seungmin’s movement ceases, frozen under the scrutiny of so many, yet mostly fixated on how the Queen’s eyes go thin as she takes in the sight before her. Him, stumbled out in front of the peanut gallery, arms stiff at his sides from fear.

Her face shifts into that of stagnant curiosity as she steps towards him. “Well, at least _someone_ here knows how to address royalty. What is it, boy?”

He knows his first and primal intention was to argue for the gardeners, but since Seungmin prefers his head attached to his neck, he stays silent. Go with the flow, maybe, but go lose his head... definitely not.

“Well? Out with it!”

“It— it’s nothing, Your Majesty,” Seungmin stutters, unsure of how to remove himself of the situation he quite literally stumbled into. 

“Nothing is _nothing_ , boy. You cannot call for me about _nothing_.” Her face comes too close for comfort as she leans in. Seungmin can see the unnatural smooth whiteness of her skin, her complete lack of pores, of marks that make humans human. “Perhaps...” her lips stretch further into a wiry, closed-lipped smile, and Seungmin can’t help but think he’d rather see that than her weirdly sharp teeth, “you’re here to partake in croquet.”

Maybe Seungmin should pay attention to the guillotine-addict in front of him, but something violet in the corner of his eye swipes at his attention. A fluffy purple cat’s tail floats by, almost as if walking on a platform Seungmin can’t see. He recognizes the tail, it reminds him of his first encounter in Wonderland. It must be the same cat. He almost shrugs the cat off, it has nothing to do with his current predicament, but then a hand stretches out from the crowd of Heartsmen and hastily grabs the tail from mid air, yanking it straight into the huddled group.

Weird.

A struggle goes down, though it’s strange to look at considering the distinct lack of body for the Heartsman to wrestle with. That particular Heartsman seems slightly different from the others, their hat low over their face, uniform crumpled unlike the pristine condition of the others’.

“Look at me!” The Queen’s shrill voice demands Seungmin’s eyes back on her. She turns and saunters away, wagging one finger at her side. “Come.”

Though he doesn’t want to, he follows the Queen out onto the pitch. He’s never played croquet before, it’s a dead sport where he’s from, and he barely remembers how it works from seeing it in cartoons. Something in him hopes someone will interrupt before he actually has to play, and he bites back the thought too late. He shouldn’t wish for things here.

Invisible paws press into his shoulder after the Heartsman evidently loses their struggle. The same disembodied voice from before whispers quietly in his ear, “This is about to get interesting, Alice.”

Not quietly enough.

“Alice?!” the Queen shrieks, her voice high pitched enough to make Seungmin clutch his ears. She whips around, pointing a spider-like finger at Seungmin. “Seize him!”

Before he can react, Heartsmen take both his arms and hold him in place. He struggles, but after only a few seconds, he realizes it’s pointless. He’s not strong enough. The Queen approaches him again, and somehow it’s scarier than before. She leans in close, inspecting Seungmin’s face.

“You don’t look like Alice,” she says, eyes squinted.

She must be talking about the old Alice, the defect that screwed everything up. Seungmin doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps his mouth shut. He doubts his voice would come out anyways.

“No matter. Off with his head.”

At those words, Seungmin fights against his captors again to no avail. “Let go,” he tries to say, but his voice is much too small. Nothing comes out but whimpers. He wrenches and spasms in any attempt to break free, but everything he does is useless.

Dark spires arise from the dirt, climbing taller than the sky and surrounding everything in black as they block out the sun. The grass of the croquet pitch folds itself down and transforms into smooth granite flooring, each speck of quartz within the stone in the shape of a heart. Suddenly the peanut gallery is a selection of Heartsmen sitting behind a mahogany jury box, and Seungmin is handcuffed on the witness stand. He pulls at his hands, wanting to do _something_ , but harsh cold metal digs into his wrists.

For the first time, he hears the King’s voice. It’s too warm. “Alice, you are hereby convicted with trickery in the form of shape-shifting, tomfoolery, conspiracy against Her Majesty the Queen, and disruption of balance. How do you plead?”

Noise fills his ears, and Seungmin looks to the side to see the jury making a ruckus just as they did outside, shouting things such as “Guilty! Guilty!” and “Chop off his head!”

All except for one, who keeps their hat low on their face as they sit silently.

Seungmin turns back to the front, where it seems the Queen is the judge, and there aren’t any lawyers. What a phony courtroom. “Not guilty, Your Majesty.”

After all, it’s not him they’re talking about, it’s that damn Defect Alice. He’s starting to curse them, whoever they are, and you, too. You sent him into this deathtrap. He doesn’t know how getting guillotined will get him out of here.

_Question what happens._

What the hell is he supposed to question? All he knows is he’s scared, and Seungmin wants out. Soon.

“Hmm...” The Queen leans forward in her chair, and Seungmin knows by the smirk on her face that she’s only pretending to consider his fate. “Plea not accepted. Off with your head.”

Cheers erupt from the stands, echoing over and over off the dark walls to taunt Seungmin’s eardrums. He feels himself being pushed forward, and he stumbles forward, chin dropping to the wooden witness stand as he bends over. Finding himself inexplicably stuck in place, he strains his eyes upwards. A gleaming, golden blade hangs above him from nothing, ready to fall at any moment.

Seungmin’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to die.

How cliché.

“Stop!”

A voice rings clear through the courtroom, silencing everything. You stand from your spot in the jury box, chin tilted up as you throw your Heartsmen hat away. You put your hand over your chest.

“I’m the one you want—the defect you so desire. Let him go.”

A series of shocked gasps reverberate from surface to surface, and Seungmin, much like everyone else, can’t take his eyes off you. You are the crumpled and out of place Heartsman. You are here to save him.

You are the Defect Alice.

“Seize them!” the Queen screeches. Seungmin thinks her voice can’t possibly go any higher.

The Heartsmen on either side of you lock your arms in their grips, but you don’t move a muscle; you simply continue glaring down the Queen.

“You have what you want now,” you say with your dark gaze, but Seungmin can tell there’s something in you that’s wavering. Fear. Doubt. “Let him go.”

A crushing moment of silence falls upon the court where nothing moves. Seungmin’s thoughts are swimming too fast for him to think straight. He understands who you are now, but he hasn’t an idea of what that means. Have you been lying to him this whole time?

Why?

The Queen is the first to move. Her lips stretch into another wretched smile. “Not only a shape-shifter... but a double as well?” She stands and leans on two hands over her judge’s bench. “You’re a cunning little roach aren’t you?” Falling back in her chair, she glances from you to Seungmin and back again. She looks like she’s just won an argument against her worst enemy with how smug her expression is. “Off with _both_ their heads. The boy first.”

Your eyes widen. You struggle against your restraints for the first time. “That’s not—! You can’t—!”

“Silence! I’m going to enjoy this.”

A pair of golden shears appear in front of the Queen, and she snatches them out of the air. Next to her, a thread gleams a menacing white. Somehow, Seungmin knows that string is the only thing keeping him alive.

“No!” you scream. “You can’t! It’s not fair!”

“Nothing is fair, sweetheart. You’d do better to learn that,” the Queen coos. “Oh, but it won’t matter now, will it?”

Her giggles are haunting.

You thrash and screech as the Queen taunts you. She holds the shears in front of her face, opening and closing them as if life were so simple as a blade and string.

“Seungmin!” You turn to him, and he can see the tears that have spilled over onto your cheeks. Desperate, fright-filled tears in red eyes. “Seungmin! You have to realize! You have to hm—!”

Your words are muffled as the threads sew your mouth shut yet again. He can see them pulling at your lips in your desperation. You keep going even silenced, struggling against the Heartsmen and pleading to Seungmin with your eyes.

But he still doesn’t understand.

The Queens shears creep closer and closer to the taut string by her side

“Seungmin!” you scream again, and you’re starting to blur in front of him. He doesn’t realize tears have started flowing on his end as well. You try to speak again, to tell him, but when that fails, you drop your head. The Queen’s maniacal laughter fills the space.

It’s hopeless. Perhaps he should just close his eyes. At least he’ll die quickly.

“You have to wake up, Seungmin!”

When Seungmin looks at you again, your mouth is red. Your lips are torn, ripped where the threads once were. Mangled strips of flesh hang where lips would be, _should be_ , but you’ve wrenched your lips apart despite the thread, and blood drips in gruesome red lines over your chin and down your throat. Your words are garbled as you try not to choke on your own blood.

“It’s a dream!”

He can’t stop staring.

“It’s a dream, Seungmin! Wake up!”

Your tears mix with red.

“Wake up, Seungmin, please! I’m begging you, please wake up!”

The Queen won’t stop cackling.

“ _Wake up!_ ”

It’s dark.

* * *

Seungmin’s head hurts. His mind feels like a children’s art project, no rhyme or reason, nothing but mud thrown on paper and forced to make sense when it doesn’t. It swims with memories he can’t remember.

He can’t hear anything.

He opens his eyes, sits up. Tries to, anyways. A gentle hand pushes him back down before he can even rise a centimeter. That reminds him of something, but then it’s gone again.

The world slowly fades in from the orangish-beige that was smeared across his vision. Voices rise in volume around him, all panicked and nervous.

“Seungmin? Seungmin, are you awake?”

It’s Hyunjin. Seungmin sees his head hovering right above him, jittery eyes scouring over Seungmin as if there’s something wrong. Maybe there is.

“Seungmin?”

“I’m...” Seungmin’s about to answer that he’s fine, but he’s not so sure about that. “What happened—”

“Are you all deaf?! _I said somebody call 119_!” Chan’s authoritative voice interrupts him, and both him and Hyunjin turn to the commotion.

Chan crouches over a body, one wearing a red apron and lying with its back to the road. The road. Seungmin looks around. He’s propped up on his elbows in the middle of a crosswalk. Looking over to Chan again, he catches a glimpse of the body’s profile before Chan puts his hand on its shoulders and locks its head in place between his elbows. Seungmin knows that face.

“Hyunjin,” he groans as he sits up. Hyunjin moves as if to make him lie down again, but Seungmin brushes his hand away. “What happened?”

“Um.” Hyunjin licks his lips. He must be too shocked. “Car... accident...”

Before Hyunjin can protest, Seungmin scrambles up and stumbles over to where Chan continues to bark orders at whoever finally called emergency services. He reaches his hand out to you. _You_.

“Don’t touch!” Chan’s voice halts Seungmin’s hand. “They could have spinal damage. I need to keep them absolutely still.”

Seungmin’s mouth opens and closes again. Air refuses to leave his body. His hands long to clutch at you. _You_.

After a moment of silence, Chan asks, “Do you know them, Seungmin?”

Seungmin’s fingers tense up, gravel biting into his skin as memories flow in and out of each part of him. His mind, his eyes, his heart. He doesn’t want to see you like this. _You._

“They pushed you out of the way, Seungmin. Do you know them?”

A flash of gold. Seungmin reaches out for the small metal pin scattered on the asphalt. He knows it’s yours. Your nametag. 

_I dropped it somewhere. Can’t find it._

“I...”

_Forget about me, Seungmin. Can you do that?_

“I don’t know.”

* * *

Seungmin leaves your nametag next to your bed.

“I don’t know why you can’t tell me how you know them, but please... don’t get your hopes up.” Chan stands with his hands crossed in the doorway. “It sucks, I get it, but these things... they happen. And we’re all thankful they saved you—beyond thankful, but if you keep coming back here...”

“I know.” Seungmin sighs, looking at your face. It’s sullen now, nothing like how he remembers. “Coming here won’t make them wake up.”

Even with only scraps of memories, Seungmin keeps being drawn back to you. He doesn’t like hospitals, they feel too hopeless, but he still comes. He shouldn’t. He should forget you like you asked him to.

But he can’t.

He knows it was real. It had to be.

A real dream.

He remembers what you said.

_Time works differently in Wonderland._

Maybe one day, a miracle will happen. If time is so fickle like that.

Seungmin can’t help but curse himself. If only he hadn’t been so stupid. He was the one who was supposed to be in Wonderland. You saved him, and in turn imprisoned yourself in the world of the unconscious.

He could wake up.

But you can’t.

“Let’s go, Seungmin.”

He takes one last look at you, so peaceful there in your hospital bed. Though he wants to heed Chan’s advice, anything is possible in Wonderland, so he knows he’ll come back tomorrow.

And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this content, you can find more on my tumblr of the same name: thepixelelf


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